Jessie could see how this elaborate game between them was going to play out but she made her next move anyway. She didn’t want there to be any illusions about what was really going on.
“I completely understand your position, Mr. Haughton. You’re the head of a major studio, and as such, you’re justifiably risk-averse. But we’re talking about a murder investigation of a once-beloved actress. I saw the impromptu memorial in front of the main gate. Fans are lighting candles and singing songs from her movies. And you seem like a really good guy. That’s why I worry that it might look bad for the studio, and even for you personally, if it got out that the leadership of Sovereign Studios was stonewalling the efforts of ‘infamous’ criminal profiler Jessie Hunt as she tries to bring Corinne’s killer to justice. I don’t want you tarred with that label.”
Haughton’s smile, already wide, broadened even further. He seemed to genuinely be enjoying this.
“I guess that’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he said sadly, “to take the heat for the tough decisions. If I have to take the hit for this, so be it. I really would love to help. But unfortunately it’s against studio policy to provide access to those files without a valid warrant. And far be it from me to undermine the policies adopted and approved by shareholders. You understand.”
Jessie smiled back, appreciating the guy’s skills despite her disappointment.
“I do indeed, sir.”
He politely bid them well and they walked out of the office, full of suspicion but empty-handed. Despite all of their suspects, none had emerged as a clear target.
“What now?” Trembley asked.
Jessie looked at him, hoping she didn’t appear as frustrated as she felt.
“Back to square one.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Jamil threw them a lifeline.
They were headed back to the station, neither speaking, both stewing at how the Haughton interview had gone, when the newest member of the Central Station research staff called.
“Please tell me you’ve got good news, Jamil,” she pleaded when she picked up. “We could really use it.”
“I’ve got news,” he answered, unruffled. “You can decide how good it is. Tech wanted me to pass along that they’re very close on the thumb drive. They think they’ll have it cracked in the next few hours. As for me, I was able to track down Tara Tanner. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband, Porter Stone, and their newborn baby boy, Gray.”
With everything going on, Jessie had almost forgotten about the actress.
“Anything jump out at you?” she asked.
“No. They seem to be leading a quiet life. She does the occasional commercial. He works for a corporate bank with offices in both L.A. and New York. He specifically requested a transfer.”
“Were you able to determine why they moved?”
“No,” Jamil said. “It could be totally innocent. After all, they were going to have a kid and her parents live in Queens. Maybe she just wanted to be closer to family while still living somewhere she could continue her career. There is one thing, though it may be unrelated.”
“Go ahead,” Jessie said, hoping for anything she could cling to.
“It looks like her husband filed for separation while they still lived out here. But he rescinded it less than forty-eight hours later. There were no specifics other than ‘irreconcilable differences.’ I guess they reconciled them pretty quickly. You can ask her about it yourself.”
“What?” Jessie asked.
“I got her cell number. I was tempted to call myself but thought you might prefer to do the honors.”
“You thought right. What is it?”
Jamil gave her the number and promised that Tech would let her know as soon as they cracked the thumb drive with the Bad Boys list. Jessie called Tara Tanner as soon as she hung up. After two rings, the call connected.
“Hello?” The voice was female and apprehensive.
“Hi, Ms. Tanner,” she said, leaping right in for fear the woman would hang up before she got to the point. “My name is Jessie Hunt. I’m calling from Los Angeles. I work with the LAPD and need to talk to you briefly.”
“Have I done something wrong?” Tanner asked anxiously.
“No ma’am. I have a few questions about Miller Boatwright—”
“I have no comment,” Tanner said tersely, cutting her off. “Any questions should be directed to my attorney. I assume that since you have my number, you can get his. Good day.”
The line went dead.
“That went well,” Jessie muttered as they pulled into the police station parking garage. Trembley had just turned off the car when